Happily Ever After
by onwingsofsnark
Summary: [What if two people never met to save a kingdom? What if evil prevailed and good was banished?] Asked Amelia Miller. Amelia's going to get closer to the answer than she ever intended. Read and Review! HIATUS
1. The Miller's Daughter

_Chapter 1: The Miller's Daughter_

I laughed merrily. I twirled and giggled in the morning sunlight. A boy from the village, Matthew Chandler, had shown me the perfect spot for watching a sunrise. Matthew Chandler was three years older than myself. His family was a big buyer of Father's flour.

Matthew turned ten recently. I guessed he thought a seven-year-old village girl was too much work for a soon-to-be man. He was kind. He tugged my braids and laughed.

"Sit, Mia." He said. I laughed again and sat, watching the rest of the sunrise.

I smiled. "It's beautiful, Matt."

He looked down. "Mother and Father don't know I'm here in the morning." He replied. "I – I can't come anymore." He sighed. "We're leaving for the next village."

I hurt. Matt was my one true friend. He'd even shared his favorite sunrise spot. "I understand."

He breathed deeply. "I knew you would, Mia. You always have." He pressed a hand to his heart. "You're the best friend a boy could ask for."

I threw my arms around his neck. His hazel eyes were tearing up. "I'll miss our games."

He pulled my arms off. "You're going to be a lady soon. You can't go hugging people." I looked down, knowing Grandma would scold me for it. He lifted my chin. "Don't worry, little Mia. Lady Fate will see us together again."

_Six years later…_

"… _And they lived happily ever after."_ My Grandma finished. She tucked the heavy blankets around my shivering form. "Now, sleep, little Mia."

My name's Amelia, but Grandma likes to call me 'little Mia' since _her_ name was Mia. My full name's Amelia Mia Miller. I'm the only child of John and Mae Miller. Mother died bearing me, and my dad died a few years back from a milling accident.

I smiled at Grandma and rolled over sleepily. Each night, she told me a story from the collection she held. I've heard stories of mermaids, unicorns, genies and all those fanciful creatures. I've heard of True Love breaking the spell on a big beast and a maid who married a prince.

Grandma promised me the best story of all for tomorrow night. Tomorrow is the night before my thirteenth birthday and that is when I get to let down my skirt and start becoming "a woman". Never, _ever_, have I thought about what I would do when I became a woman. Women don't listen to fairy tales and gossip with their grandma late into the night.

I simply loved my grandma's stories too much to let them go.

She promised to stay up with me until the witching hour. I rolled back over and I kissed my grandma goodnight. She stood and left the room. She'd come back later (we had to share the bed) and sleep, but she always let me get to sleep first.

I dreamt that night of fairies coming. They took me to their lands and I learned all sorts of magic.

In the morning – Grandma was already up and around –, I rose to give the chickens feed and pull out the breakfast Grandma and I would make.

She came in from the outside. "Mia, we're going to look make breakfast and then you and me are going to go collect herbs for me to dry and sell."

"Yes, Grandma." I replied, ever the obedient twelve-year-old.

"I shall tell you the story for tonight." She said suddenly.

I gasped. "Grandma! That was for _tonight_ not now!" For once, I objected to hearing her story. I wanted the _special_ story for _tonight_.

"Amelia Mia Miller!" She commanded. Obediently, I shut my mouth. I was in no position to be telling my Grandma what to do.

I sunk into my farm-girl self. "Grandma, may I ask a question?"

She smiled. "Sure, honey." She was her normal self.

"What if two people never met to save a country? What if the good king was never killed? What if-" Grandma stopped my running mouth.

"Child, 'what if's will get you no where. They happen because Lady Fate willed them that way. Don't question it." She smiled gingerly. "Now, let me think of the proper starting place."

"_Once upon a time_." I prompted eagerly. All thoughts of the special story being _only_ for tonight were gone.

"Ah, yes, _Once upon a time_." She whispered.

Her story began. "A good and kind king ruled over a kingdom. He was beloved by his servants and people alike. If one had thought he was perfect, they were in the false." She started. "At night, after his wife was asleep and the servants abed, he crept into the vaults.

"He counted, each night, the exact amount of gold in his treasury. He shined each piece and made sure they shone with an unearthly glow." She smiled at my dreamy expression. Her voice wove the picture for me. "The king grew vain. He stopped being kind, gentle and caring. He killed his wife for unfaithfulness and murdered his personal slaves for plots against him.

"He became a King of Night." Kings of Night were the village nickname for a bad or conceited person. "One of his many mistresses bore him a son. In the birthing chamber, a prophecy unfolded. His son would overthrow him when the child turned exactly twenty-one.

"The king had the child killed." Grandma said. "But, the king did not account for Lady Fate. The boy-prince escaped in a midwife's basket. He disappeared. The king was told the child had been taken care of."

I shivered. "What next?" I asked eagerly.

Grandma shook her head. "There is no end yet. That story unfolded exactly fifteen years ago."

I gasped. "The child turns twenty-one six years!"

Grandma smiled. "Don't worry, child. The prince won't know of his destiny quite yet. After all, what fun would the tale be if the hero knew of his destiny since birth?"

My shoulders slumped. "Yes, Grandma." I replied.

"Now, child, go run this piece of bread out to the birds."

I carried the words in my heart, repeating the story till I knew it by heart.

That afternoon Grandma died of an unknown source. The village healers called it a "heart attack" but why would her heart revolt?

I knew suddenly why Grandma had told me the story preemptively. She _knew_ she would die before it could be told to me this midnight. It didn't dull the heartache. I was alone, except for my father.

I feared that Grandma's death was caused by her words about fairy tales. Maybe Lady Fate had decided that Grandma had told one too many stories.

I threw the words away, casting them aside like a rag-doll. I cried and cried at night for Grandma. She was my mother, in a way. First Lady Fate took Mama from Father; then, Father; now, Grandma. Where would I go?


	2. Family, Weapons and Combat

_Chapter 2: Family, Weapons and Combat_

I rode a horse. The servants were finishing moving the trunks and crates. Mother and Father knew that this was for the better, I told myself. I saw my mother climb into a carriage, then my father. They had agreed to let me ride a horse; I _was_ ten after all. We started out.

"Matt!" A voice cried. I saw a small head of blonde running to catch us. "Matt! Wait!" I knew the voice. I dismounted. She ran into my arms and I hugged her. "Don't leave." She whimpered.

I breathed in the scent of her hair, wildflowers and fresh air. "Mia. I can't."

I felt tears through my shirt. "P – please, Matt!"

I brushed her hair back away from her face. Her blue eyes held a river of tears. It felt like she was crushing my heart. "Mia." Her eyes locked onto mine.

"I hate you." She said. "Leave! See if I care!" She shoved herself away.

"I'm sorry, Amelia." I whispered.

"Matthew Chandler!" A voice yelled. "Get back on that horse."

I looked at her once more. "Lady Fate will see us together again, little Mia." With that, I turned and mounted my horse. I heard another heart-piecing cry. I forced myself to look at the horse's mane. I never looked back.

_Six Years Later…_

My curious eyes watched the orb of fire disappear behind the hills. I yawned, stretched and stood. The day's light faded and teased me into sleepiness. I was a morning person; rising early to catch the fiery sunset and staying up to watch the light show's end. A servant appeared in my room.

"Dinner is served, Master Matthew." The servant said carefully. He left.

"I'm coming," I mourned the loss of the rest of the sunset, but I knew my mother was impatient. I pulled on a loose cotton shirt and washed my face. I thumped down the stairs and swung into the dining room where my father sat next to my mother while she waited for me. "Morning, Father. Morning, Mother." I gave my mother a kiss and took my seat on the other side of her.

Father was mournful. "Amelia Miller's grandmother died yesterday." He said carefully.

"Mia Miller?" I asked. _She was such a good grandmother…_

"Yes." Mother wiped a tear. "We got the news today."

Father looked down. "She has no family anymore. Her mother died in childbirth and her father died a few years back when the mill caught on fire." I nodded. "We've agreed to take on Amelia." _Amelia!_ I thought. I corrected myself. _She won't remember me._

Mother wiped another tear. "She'll be your charge; she's only a few year younger than yourself."

"She's _twelve_." I cried aloud. _This_ indignity could not be borne. "What'll the boys think? They'll start rumors about us."

Father slammed a hand on the table. "Matthew Simon!"

I bowed my head. "Yes, sir?"

"She's _your charge_. Your mother and I have no time for her."

"Yes, sir." I murmured.

Mother patted my hand. "She turns thirteen today, honey. That's only two years."

I looked at her, but not in the eye. "Yes, ma'am." They explained she would sleep in one of the guests' quarters while more permanent rooms were being prepared.

I heard a big intake of breath from my father. "She will arrive momentarily. Make her welcome, Matthew."

At that precise moment, a servant entered. "Miss Amelia Miller." He bowed. Behind him stood a thin girl of thirteen years. She wore a plain brown dress that was still the short style of girls under the age of thirteen. She had one bag that was obviously well worn and not very full. She had her fair hair pulled into a tight bun – denoting she was of age – and her blue eyes still held tears.

Her eyes were downcast. Mother looked at me. I rose and went over. I dismissed the servant with a hand. "Miss Miller?" I asked. Her eyes met mine. "I'm Matthew Simon Chandler. Welcome to Chandler Manor."

She gave me a nervous smile. "I feel welcome, thank you, Master Chandler." She gave my mother and father a more secure smile and looked back at me.

"I'll call a servant and we can go see your rooms." I gave her a smile.

A servant appeared and we began to walk towards her rooms. When we were out of earshot of my parents she turned to me. _"Rooms?"_

I smiled. "Yes. You have a bedchamber and a bath chamber as well as a small library/parlor."

She shook her head. Her face was beat red. "I'm sorry. But at the mill Grandma and I sleep – we _used_ to sleep in the same bed."

I smiled kindly. I knew that farms had little space. "Well, you'll find our rooms accommodating, I think." The servant opened the door.

She gasped. I didn't think it was too amazing. It was actually one of the more out-of-date rooms. They had three guest quarters. This was the oldest of them. Inside it was one, large, four-poster bed, a small desk, a fireplace and a wardrobe. The washroom held a large bathtub and a changing-screen. The parlor held another table. She seemed enchanted.

"Thank you… Master Chandler." She stammered.

At least she had manners. "I'm going to go to read." I said. "And, don't worry about the room." I grinned mischievously. "Jump on the bed. It's fun."

She gasped. "_Jump_ on it? But I'll-"

I waved a hand. "You won't break it. They're quite sturdy." I turned to leave.

"Master-"

"Matt." He said. "My friends call me it. Since you're here you can too."

"Matt." She repeated. "May I come? With you?"

I cocked my head. "Sure. Come on then." The little thirteen-year-old followed me. She still hurt; I could tell. She had been a little reclusive when I knew her as a child. Her politeness was unexpected. Most of the country hicks didn't have manners as well as money.

"Call me Mia." She said meekly.

"Mia, then." The blonde promised to be a beauty, a boon for most families. "Did you live in my village? Crossroads?"

I smiled. She knew me. "Yes. I left five – nearly six – years ago with my family."

Her eyes widened. "I _knew_ you!"

I patted her shoulder. "Did you still watch sunrises?"

She gave me a bashful smile. "Yes." She giggled. "I remember how mad I was that you were leaving."

"I remember a little girl of seven years crying her eyes out on my travel-shirt." I gave her a grin. "I also remember something I said before I left. Do you remember what it was?"

Her blue eyes met mine. "That Lady Fate would see us together again. Yes. I remember." Her stomach growled. Her face was red.

"You just missed dinner." I told her. "Do you want to stop by the kitchens and grab a snack?" She nodded. We got some meat pastries from the cook and went to the library.

- - - - -

The next day I rose to watch the sunrise. I looked out across the hills from my room. I saw a small, lithe figure running and spinning. Her long hair wasn't pulled into braids or a bun. The sun was a glowing ruddy yellow and it promised to be a wonderful day. I leaned against the window frame and watched the dancing figure.

She turned. Obviously she saw me because she ran back inside.

I sighed and went around my morning routine. I washed my face, changed my clothes and brushed my teeth with a brush and some white paste. Satisfied, I made sure my clothes were nice enough for breakfast and went downstairs.

The lithe figure from the sunrise came into the dining room blushing furiously. She didn't meet my eyes. Her hair was perfectly done and pulled away from her face. She wore a homespun gown undyed and laced up tightly.

She saw my parents and dropped a curtsy; she wobbled a little. "Good morning Mister and Missus Chandler." She gave me a small curtsy. "Good morning, Master Chandler."

My mother – the ever-graceful Missus Joann Chandler – replied. "Amelia, if you are to live with us, we insist you call us by our first names."

"I am Simon." My father said. "My wife is Joann and our son, Matthew."

I repeated, "Call me Matt."

Amelia smiled shyly. "Thank you."

"Now," My mother said. "Breakfast." Amelia was amazed at what came out, oatcakes, fresh apples, bacon, eggs and milk. She ate slowly, tasting each thing in turn. "About your… attire." Mother said tactfully. "You and I will have a shopping trip during the afternoon. The morning and the evening will be yours do with what you please."

"Yes… ma'am." She replied.

"Joann." She corrected absently. "Matthew will be doing weapons practice and Simon will be doing other assorted things." The first was me, the latter, my father.

"I should like to watch." Amelia said quietly. "The weapons, that is."

Mother, although her eyes showed worry, nodded. "Of course. Matthew will be there to watch you." Breakfast was finished. Father gave us the end-of-meal blessing and we were off.

"I'll change for practice, you can wait; I won't be long." I told Amelia when we reached the intersection in the halls.

Her eyes sparkled. "May I use a weapon too?"

I was confused. Most girls would've fainted at the mere _mention_ of a weapon. Here, an orphaned miller's daughter, wanted to learn all she could! Would've thunk it!

I raised an eyebrow. "Sure…"

She grinned. "Thank you!"

I dressed in breeches and a shirt and came right out. Amelia was gasping and awed the portraits of my lineage. I took her outside.

My friends are Matthew (We call him by his middle name, Joseph) Smithson who has brown hair and green eyes, and Jonathan Baker who has blonde hair and brown eyes. I'm the third of us three and I have black hair (uncommon for our northern region) and dark hazel eyes.

"Hey! Joe, John!" I called. They came over from sparring.

Joe spoke first. "Who's the tagalong?" He asked. His rather ordinary face betrayed his station in life, a blacksmith's son.

John kicked him. The second friend bowed. "And who may you be, my lady?" John was a baker's son. Mia backed away and ran. I rolled my eyes at Joe. I went after her. She was hiding in the stables, breathing the scent of the horses.

"Mia?" I asked, coming in.

"You didn't say you were friends with _him_!" She said.

"Which 'him'?" I asked. "There's two, you know."

"Matthew Smithson." She said, trying to hide in a horse's stall.

I rolled my eyes. "Did he tease you as a kid? Listen Mia, Joe's no more sadistic than you are a mouse."

Her blonde head popped out from the stall. "What's sa- sadistic?"

I sighed. Her love of learning apparently overcame her reservations. "Sadistic: cruel."

"Oh." She blushed. "As long as he don't – doesn't tease me."

I held out a hand. "Promise." She took it and stood. "Now, how about those lessons?"

XxXxXxXxXxX

Matt had to correct my three times on my dagger stance before I got it right. He was right though; Matthew wasn't cruel. I don't think he remembered that he used to throw stones at me. I wondered why Matthew was here, not in Crossroads with his father.

I threw the dagger and hit it dead on. I cheered. My first hit and it was perfect. Matthew and John, bored by it, went to _spar_ more. Matt was true to his word, once when he deemed my dagger-throwing good enough, he moved onto the longbow. He did eventually leave to spar with his friends. Matthew came over, since sparring was a two-person game.

"Amelia Miller is it?" He asked while I drew the bow.

"Yes." I replied, trying to concentrate on the little red mark.

"How long you staying?"

"When Lady Fate calls me, I'll leave." I let the little arrow fly. It missed the red by a lot. "Could you stop talking? I'm trying to aim."

Matthew shrugged. "If you ever get into real combat you'll need to be able to aim and fire under pressure."

"I don't plan on getting into combat." I replied tersely.

"You don't go searching for combats; they find you, Amelia." I let the bowstring lax and brought it down. Matthew was… different upon closer acquaintance. I sighed and drew my bow and fired.


	3. Move In Day

**Nixiesocean: Well, I'm happy I got one review… : - D Thank you, _Scoutcraft Piratess_. In any case, I wrote this chapter. Hope you like it.**

**If anyone's confused: the very beginning of most of the chapters will be flashbacks of the past, to kind of give you insight without actually making _me_ write the whole dark thing. K?**

**Ignore the above if that totally confused you. Just know that the very beginning of most chapters isn't the same time as the rest of the story.**

**Anywhoo, onto my _one_ response.**

**_Scoutcraft Piratess_: Did you really think I'd go through the whole trouble of foreshadowing the reunion without it actually happening? Sheesh…**

_Chapter 3: Move-in Day_

The move-in was scary. I had to "make friends" with the neighbor kids. That actually was an order from my parents. I laughed and joked with some of the other merchant-kids, but I didn't like them.

I walked down the main road. I wanted to find someone that would show me around, someone _my_ age. Not someone two to three years younger than myself. Namely, Amelia Miller. She was good and all, but as she got older, she would forget me. Seven isn't the age that is known for memory.

I smelled the bakery. I was hungry from the ride, three hours' by carriage, and had some spare allowance. I walked up to the counter. A boy of about ten years, my age, was helping with flour sacks and other things. He turned. His hair was a fair blonde, like everyone this far north, and his eyes dark brown, once again, typical.

I smiled. "I smelled the foods and I was wondering if you were selling any sweets."

"You talk like a city-boy." The blonde commented.

I raised an eyebrow. "What if I am a city-boy?"

He laughed. "Then the likes of you wouldn't be consertin' with the likes of me!"

I disliked being laughed at. "I am new in this town. I'm _sorry_ for 'consortin'' with _country-boys_."

He rolled his chocolate eyes. "We're selling some fritters." He commented; waving a hand to some that were cooling.

"I'll take one. How much?"

"Ten coppers." He stated blandly.

"Five." I countered. He obviously didn't know I could barter.

"Nine." He narrowed his eyes. He'd _apparently_ been trained to barter.

I grinned. "Six."

"Seven and a pence." He said. "That's perfect 'tween our prices. Deal?" He held out his hand. I nodded and shook it. Little did he know that seven coppers and a pence wasn't all that bad of a deal for an apple fritter!

"Want to show me around?" I asked suddenly. "As I said, I'm new."

He nodded. "Da!" He yelled. "I'm takin' a break!" A voice added confirmation from the back. "Where you'd like to go?" I shrugged. "To the blacksmith!" He declared. I nodded and followed the slim bakery-helper. He turned his blonde head back to me. "By the way, I'm Jonathan Baker. Friends call me John."

"I'm Matthew. Matt for short." I replied, catching up. "I live just down there on Corner Way."

He whistled. "The big manor?" I nodded. "What're your parents do?"

I shrugged. "Merchants."

As if that explained everything, he huffed along. We reached the blacksmith's shop. A burly man was there. He had strong arms and an even stronger back. He had a hard face. "Master Smithson!" John called.

The smith turned. "Matthew's out back." He called over the roar of the bellows.

John nodded and ran around the store. "Matthew's my friend." I nodded and followed.

A slim boy of eleven years or so was chopping wood out back. He had blacksmith's arms. "Matt." He said, jogging to a stop. "We got a city-boy."

The boy, Matthew, straightened and shook out the cramps from his back. "This the boy?" He asked, jabbing a finger at me.

"Hey!" I said defensively. "I'm not a city-boy. I grew up at Crossroads."

John and Matt both laughed. "That's more a city than plain ole Riverside ever will be." Matt told me and I blushed. "Aww, the laddie blushed." He snorted. "You gotta toughen up, city-boy."

John poked him. "He's new. Don't make such a bad impres'ion on 'im."

I narrowed my eyes. "How old are you two?"

John's eyebrows rose. "I'm turnin' eleven next month. Matt's nearin' twelve." I bit the inside of my cheek. I _hated_ telling people I was only ten. "You?"

"Ten." I muttered. Matt laughed. In any case, I _had_ to make friends.

John turned to Matt. "Well, we got to show this city-lad the ropes, don't we?"

Matthew shrugged. "I'm goin' on break, boy. We'll show you the _ropes_."

_Six Years Later…_

Her stance was wrong. Her feet were bunched together. I went over and reminded her to keep her feet apart; it gave you better stability. John was laughing. Joseph was as well.

I saw her back clench. I rested a hand on her shoulder. "Don't let them bother you, Mia."

She nodded and breathed deeply. She raised the bow and let it loose. It hit dead on. I was surprised. She was a _natural_ with the bow! "I won't." She promised. The clock town rang eleven. "The missus!" She exclaimed, handing me the bow. "I'll be back after!" Mia bolted from the training grounds.

Immediately, John and Joe came over. "Who is she?" – "Where'd you get her?" – "Who's her father?"

I shook my head. "She's a girl from Crossroads I knew. Her grandma died of a heart attack and her father died in a fire, he was a miller."

John shook his head. "All that flour… no wonder." John was a baker's son and knew the dangers of flour-polluted air.

Joe grinned. "Does she live with you now?" He asked.

"I guess you'd call Father her father, now…" I shrugged.

"Mind if I flirt a bit?" He winked. "Unless you've laid claim?"

I laughed. "Joe, you do me too much credit. She's in mourning. She won't want to have a beau – much less the one that teased her."

Joe raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"She said you used to throw stones at her." I shrugged at his disbelieving look. "That's what she said."

"I see." Muttered my friend. Realization dawned. "I did, didn't I? I have cousins in Crossroads. I visited them from time to time."

John laughed and I glared. She was a little sister, basically, now. "Joe, I've got to go study."

They both shook their heads, muttering, "City-boys…"

XxXxXxXxXxX

I ran inside and pulled out my best dress. It was nice wool, my birthday present from Grandma last year. She had made the hem long enough I could let it down when I turned thirteen years. I gently snipped the threads and the hem came down around my feet. It was pleasing, hearing the gentle swish of a longer dress.

I walked out the door, feeling very odd with cloth about my shoes. I entered the drawing room, where I had been told earlier to meet Missus Chandler – _Joann_.

She was there. She wore a nice cloak of wool over woolen dress. Her dress had embroidery around the neck. I curtsied. Missus Chandler came over and lifted my chin. "Although I support female independence, running around with a bunch of boys is not the way to show it."

"Yes, ma'am." I replied. I _liked_ using the longbow. It seemed so right in my hands.

"We are shopping today." She repeated. I nodded. "To the dress-makers!" She announced. We left; I saw the boys hitting each other and shook my head. "See that?" Missus Chandler said as we passed. "That's _men's_ work. No girl in my house will train with weapons."

I merely nodded and followed my replacement mother.

We entered the dressmaker's shop. I gasped at all the brilliant shades of linen, silk, wool and so much more. I fingered lace I'd never be able to afford and gently brushed past the silks that cost more than three silvers a yard. Missus Chandler was already speaking to the seamstress about my dresses. The seamstress waved me to a backroom. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror.

The same old, blonde-haired, blue-eyed miller's daughter looked back. She wore a homespun wool dress that was unadorned. The girl was underfed and had dulled eyes from tears. I saw the reflection of the seamstress in the brass mirror. She held brilliant shades of white, scarlet and blue. The blues ranged from deep midnight blue to a pale shade of sky. The red from a deep scarlet to a pale pink and thee whites went from off-white to a peach.

I was amazed. All of this _must_ cost more than two gold! The seamstress cut up my homespun gown right off me. I gasp, blushing deeply. I wore a threadbare linen shift. The seamstress clicked and shook her head. Missus Chandler smiled and gave me a spare shift from the stack that lay near me. I held it close, waiting for them to leave. They didn't.

"Put it on." The seamstress said kindly. "Is this your first fitting?" I nodded, producing a deep shade of crimson. "It's alright, we're all women here." If it was possible, I blushed ever deeper and slowly pulled off the shift. I grew very uncomfortable.

I quickly donned the new shift. It didn't scratch or anything. There were no sticks of straw, nor little burrs stuck in it. It whispered against my skin. I felt it. It was new linen. Newer linen was spun with softer things and didn't hurt as much. I gasped again as the seamstress put dyed wool around me to see it against my skin tone. I loved the hunter green wool as well as a sky blue. Missus Chandler said the sky blue brought my eyes out.

In the end, I had an order of three new wool dresses, hunter green, sky blue and a pale red. I had three new shifts as well, all new linen. We went to the cobblers' and got two pairs of nice, leather shoes and two pairs of slippers. I had my old dress on with my new shift.

I felt like a burden to Missus Chandler. She spent nearly three gold on me! When I was silent on the way to the manor, she spoke up.

"Three gold pieces is your weeks' allowance, Amelia." I gasped. _Three gold!_ What would I do with it? She handed me the remaining money. It was two silver and five coppers. This was as much money as Grandma made in a week! "Matthew will make sure you get it." She saw me looking at the practice field. "No, you're a merchant's daughter. Merchant's daughters don't play with boys or practice weapons."

A thought popped into my head. "What if I was attacked?"

"You would have guards." She replied.

"And if they were all killed?" I persisted.

"Our guards are the best." Missus Chandler sighed.

"But _what if_ they were?" I pestered.

Missus Chandler sighed again. "Go play with your boys. I expect you washed for dinner." With a gleeful squeal, I ran off.

**Nixiesocean: You know the drill!**

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